Hearts Divided
by Mindy35
Summary: Elliot/Olivia. In the aftermath of Calvin's removal, Elliot (re)offers a solution to Olivia's childlessness. Post-ep for "Rescue" and a continuation of my "Savior" post-ep "Heroic Measures". Story is continued in "High Stakes".


Title: Hearts Divided

Author: mindy35

Rating: T, some adult stuff.

Disclaimer: Dick and NBC own 'em, not me.

Spoilers: thru to "Rescue".

Pairing: Elliot/Olivia, implied Elliot/Kathy.

Summary: Post-ep for "Rescue", picks up immediately after the episode. In the aftermath of Calvin's removal, Elliot (re)offers a solution to Olivia's childlessness.

A/N: This story is also a continuation of my previous post-ep "Heroic Measures". It will make sense if you haven't read that one but will probably make more if you have. It is the story right before this one if you would like to check it out.

* * *

He takes her elbow with one hand and places the other on the bend of her back, swiftly and silently steering her from the exposure of the squadroom to the privacy of an unoccupied interrogation room. As soon as he releases her, his partner starts pacing the space like a caged lioness whose treasured cub has just been ripped away.

"What do I do?" she demands, desperation leaking from every pore. "Tell me what to do, I don't know what I'm supposed do."

Elliot shuts the door quietly. "I don't think there's anything you can do."

Olivia glances at him with wild eyes then flings an arm in the direction of the heart wrenching scene he just witnessed. "Every fiber of my being is telling me to run after him, El, to rescue him back."

He nods. "I know."

"I'm his _rescuer_," she insists, one hand pressed to her breast. "He _said_ that. I should have done something. He didn't _want_ to go. You_ saw_."

"I saw."

She pivots on her heel and stalks away from him, eyes brimming. "He was _happy_ with me..."

Elliot takes half a step inside the room but leaves most of the space for her to pace and process. "You took good care of him, Liv, he'll never forget that."

"Yes. He will," she mutters, head wagging at the floor. "They all do."

"Look," he clears his throat, runs a hand over his cropped hair, "protective services wouldn't have placed Calvin with his grandparents if they weren't good people."

"Yeah, they did a bang-up job with their son, the murderer."

"It's out of your hands now."

"_You_—" she stabs an accusing finger at him in passing, "You _never_ thought I should have him in the first place."

"That's not true," he answers evenly. "I just saw this coming, Liv. A mile off."

Her jaw clenches, her pace slowing. "I didn't."

"I know."

"I was too close."

"That happens, when kids are involved." Elliot moves closer, sitting on one corner of the interrogation table. "How many times have you had to be the voice of reason when it came to me and my kids?"

His partner stops pacing and stares at him. Then, all her frantic energy apparently drained, she heads for the sole window and gazes out through the steel grate. "I just bought him new sneakers," she says, pausing to gain control over her tremulous voice. "They didn't have his size so we had to order them in. I picked them up this morning. Calvin was so excited…he didn't even get to wear them…"

Locking his fingers in his lap, Elliot gives a hopeful shrug she can't see. "Maybe…once he's settled, we can get an address. You can send him his things. You could write. Or visit."

"It's not the same."

"No. I know..." He joins her at the window, leaning a shoulder against the concrete wall. "Want me to drive you home?"

Olivia lets out a long breath, turning and falling back against the grate. "I can't…go back there. Not right away. Calvin's things are everywhere."

Elliot nods at the floor, silent a moment. "I'll grab some boxes from storage," he says finally. "You don't want to do this alone."

His partner gives a miniscule nod of agreement then follows him to the door. Elliot opens it for her, eyes on her drawn face as she passes by into the empty corridor.

-x-

They stand in the small vestibule of her apartment, Elliot with a plain brown box and Olivia with the box of unworn sneakers tucked under her arm. Traces of her recent charge scatter her living room. The picture he painted of her is on the refrigerator. A blue hoodie is slung over the back of the couch. And a plate of orange peel sits on the coffee table from that morning's breakfast.

"Sure you can do this now?" he asks.

Olivia throws her keys on the nearest flat surface. "Might as well get it over and done with."

Elliot takes a few steps inside. "Where do you want to start?"

"Most of his stuff's in the bedroom." She waves a vague hand in that direction. "You start in there, I'll grab his DVDs."

Olivia's bed is fitted with blue sheets that have yellow rockets and comets shooting across them. The bed is unmade, the sheets rumpled with either sleep or play and the pillows bulging where a dogged-eared book and a pair of unfolded pyjamas have been shoved underneath. On the nightstand are several comic books, a few random colored pencils, a pair of boys sunglasses and a half drunk glass of water. Wedged into the border of a mirror on the opposite wall is a photo of Calvin and Olivia smiling and eating popcorn in front of a Ferris wheel.

The room reminds Elliot of a scene from his own kid-cluttered home.

"Where exactly were you sleeping?" he asks when she enters with half a dozen DVDs and dumps them in the box he's holding.

"Couch," she answers curtly. At his stern look, Olivia frowns and mutters, "What?"

"Nothing," he says, bending to retrieve a pair of inside-out track pants, half kicked under the bed. "That's great if you wanna wreck your back."

She humphs and drifts to the mirror. "How would you know?"

Folding the pants with one hand, as he's done a thousand times before, Elliot drops them in the box. "Oh, I've done my fair share of couch time."

Olivia doesn't answer. She just slides the Ferris wheel photo out from the frame then backs to the bed and sits, never taking her eyes off the image. In it, it's difficult to tell which of them looks happier.

Elliot puts down the box and sits next to her on the bed. "Liv..."

She holds up a hand, eyes slipping shut. "Don't say anything. Nothing's gonna help."

He complies, staying silent but lifting a loose arm around her shoulders. It feels odd, a gesture he'd normally quash without a second thought. Her body feels both familiar to him and unfamiliar and at first, it resists the almost imperceptible prodding of his hand to draw her in. Eventually though, the habitual rigidity of her spine slackens and the lifelong practice she's developed of standing strong and solo against the harsh of blows life dissolves.

"Why's this keep happening?" she asks as her head drops into the nook between his shoulder and his neck. "First Molly, now Calvin. Why do people keep leaving me their kids only for them to be yanked away again?"

"I don't know." He turns his face toward her, his jaw grazing her hair and a few strands catching in his stubble. "Maybe cos you want it so much."

He feels her frown as she hands him the photo. "It's that obvious?"

Elliot studies it briefly, voice becoming hesitant as he goes on. "Maybe they see something in you, Liv. Maybe they can see…all that love just waiting to burst out of you and be put to good use."

He tucks the happy memory away, making sure it is cushioned safely on top of Calvin's track pants. As he leans down to the box, Olivia stirs, pulling back from his embrace and seeming to remember the task at hand. She gives a dim smile and looks about to rise. But her eyes meet and catch on his. And instead of rising she leans in, rests a few fingers on his jaw and fits her lips against his. The second her mouth makes contact, she withdraws.

"Sorry—"

"No—"

"God, I'm so sorry." She puts a hand over her shocked mouth then lifts it to cover her eyes. "I didn't mean that. I mean, I _meant _it, I just didn't mean to _do_ it—"

Elliot wraps his hand round her wrist, tries to pull her hand down. "Liv—"

She tries to rise but his grip keeps her in place. "I'm so embarrassed—"

"Don't be," he murmurs, tugging at her wrist.

"I can't believe I…" Her hand lowers and she looks at him, eyes swarming with shame and voice barely more than a whisper. "I don't know what I was thinking."

He shakes his head and retains her wrist. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," she insists, cheeks burning.

"No, it's really, really…" he's nodding slightly and breathing heavily and inching closer, drawing her hand in so it's pressed to his chest, "…it's really okay."

The second kiss is his fault. Elliot leans in, nudging her mouth with his – once, twice, three times – insisting it open and accept him. Her lips part with a muffled moan that reveals both her fiercely restrained longing and her fast failing reluctance. The long denied first contact has been made though and reluctance and reason seem an insufficient defense against the impending onslaught of what now feels inevitable.

"This can't happen," she breathes as their bodies ease back onto the blue and yellow space sheets.

"I know," he mutters, his open mouth detouring across her cheek.

Her hand curls around his head, bringing his mouth back to hers. "El— This—"

He rises over her, mouth covering hers in a ferocious kiss and tongue entering to caress hers. One hand slips up inside the back of her sweater to taste her rapidly heating skin while the other glides up the underside of her arm, fingers weaving with hers above her head.

"—can't happen," she finishes breathlessly when he pulls back to allow them both air. Olivia runs a hand down his chest in a way that's probably meant to placate his passion but only sets his flesh on fire. "We have to stop."

"Yes," he agrees, tugging her body closer and drawing her leg up over his. His thigh steals between hers and presses against her, causing her to release a loud, aching groan.

"Oh, please…" Olivia arches instinctively, breasts brushing his chest.

He can't be sure if she's pleading with him to stop or to continue. But they both know only one of those options is a true possibility for them. So Elliot removes his hand from her sweater and smooths the material down over her back. The unprecedented surge that blindsided them is receding, enough at least for him to regain some semblance of his usual control. Just lying entwined with a clothed Olivia Benson on an unmade bed amidst a lost kid's chaos is enough to challenge that formidable self-discipline he so seldom abandons. It's also enough of a rush that his body feels alive in a way that it hasn't in decades. It's not a circumstance he ever thought he'd find himself in, though he'd be kidding himself if he were to believe it isn't one he's covertly craved. Even in such profoundly prohibited daydreams though, the bliss of such a moment was still mingled with the underlying impossibility that had defined their relationship since the second they met.

Olivia strokes his face softly, so softly, murmuring, "We can't, El….we can't…"

"I know." He presses a kiss to her forehead then rests his against hers for a long moment. "I'm sorry." He shakes his head as their breaths begin to return to normal. "God, am I sorry."

A moment later, he is up, off the bed like a shot. It's like ripping off a band-aid – excruciating but necessary. He stands on the threshold with his back to her, adjusting his clothes in an effort to revert to some former state of normality. Behind him, Olivia slowly rises. He feels her gaze on his back, he feels her chest expanding with each new breath. Then he hears her head for the adjoining bathroom, muttering about her life being a fucking mess. He knows the feeling.

There are a few clanks from the bathroom. Her boot heels click against the tile then halt. The water is turned on then off again. The silence stretching between the two rooms is deafening. Elliot wipes his hands on his pants, attempting to rid his palms of the lingering sensation of his partner's body, warm and soft, gliding and burning and arching beneath his too-eager touch. When he closes his eyes, a small, inappropriate voice in the back of his mind wishes he'd touched her breasts when he had the chance. Just once would've been enough to last him until the end of his days. Maybe.

Elliot turns, standing to abrupt attention as she re-enters the bedroom. Drawing a breath, he hopes his face doesn't betray his thoughts. It doesn't matter though. Olivia doesn't look at him. She simply lifts the box onto the bed and throws in a hairbrush, some teen bodywash and a loofah in the shape of a baseball mitt. Elliot watches her pack away the comic books as well, the sunglasses, the pencils and the dog-eared book. Her movements are efficient and detached, showing no sign of the emotion that, moments ago, she allowed him to glimpse. During her short interlude in the bathroom, her expression has been purposefully altered from that of a broken-hearted woman to the human equivalent of a stone wall.

He knows this version of his partner and understands like no one else why it must exist. But right now, he doesn't know who she thinks she's fooling. He saw how she clung to Calvin as he was torn from her arms. He saw her helplessness in the interrogation room immediately after. He saw the tears welling in her eyes as they drove in complete silence to her apartment. Just as he saw the crushing loss in them when she looked at that photo of them by the Ferris wheel. Elliot also saw the irrepressible spark in her eyes when she kissed him, when he dared to kiss her back. He saw the bliss on her face when he finally touched her the way both of them had always wanted. He has seen her up close and personal now, how she looks all hazy with heat and a passion only the two of them can understand. He knows he should erase the memory from his mind but he'll never forget, and never wants to forget, the preciousness of seeing Olivia Benson stripped back to her absolute, shimmering essence.

It's that Olivia he adores in the depths of his soul. It's that Olivia he's spent years trying to get at, despite knowing he shouldn't, despite knowing the consequence of such curiosity on his already claimed heart. It's this Olivia – Olivia the Stonewall – that consistently drives him crazy. He wants to shake her. He wants to tell her to for once drop the act. He wants to rewind to a few minutes before and just pause in place another moment or two. Or three. Or four. Or maybe he wants to go back and undo that second kiss altogether. But he can't. So Elliot braces his forearms against the frame of her bedroom door and releases a loud sigh of frustration. Then he does something he rarely does when it comes to his partner. He tells the truth.

"I think we should make a baby. You and me. Together."

He is sufficiently satisfied by her stunned response. His partner stops what she's doing and blinks at him, her impenetrable mask failing for the space of several beats. Elliot stares back at her stubbornly.

"…What?" Olivia shuffles to face him, brows deeply furrowed.

He falters under her hard stare, suddenly hearing his words the way she did. "Not now. Not here, not—" he drops his arms and gestures at the bed, "not the old-fashioned way. I mean through artificial means. I mean that I donate," he clears his throat and gestures to himself, "my half of the equation and you—" he gestures at her then shrugs, "you're the mom. Which is what you want, right?"

Her lips part, her head shakes. "I…don't even know how to respond to that."

"It's not like it's the first time it's come up." Elliot watches her move to the far side of the bedroom and open a dresser drawer. "Tell me…" he murmurs, low and slow, "you haven't thought about it."

Olivia gazes into the drawer a moment before answering. "I considered your offer."

"And?" he prompts, folding his arms.

She faces him again with eyes like slits. "What about your _wife_, the mother of your children?"

"I told Kathy that if you asked, I'd say yes."

"Really? And what'd she say to that?"

"She…understands. Sort of."

Olivia shakes her head then starts taking fistfuls of underwear from the drawer and throwing them onto the bed. "And what about us? We couldn't work together."

"It would be an anonymous donation," he says with an ease that not even he believes. "No one would have to know."

"No." She gives a mirthless laugh and waggles a pair of socks at him. "I know you better than that. There is no way you could have a kid out there and not want to be its dad." Tossing the socks onto the pile, Olivia continues in a softer tone. "You'd walk around the world on broken glass for any one of your kids, I don't see you doing any different for a test-tube baby."

"Hey," the socks bounce off the bed and he scoops them up, "I can be hands-off."

She shoots him a dubious look and shuts the drawer. "Oh yeah? Since when?"

Elliot walks to the bed, placing the socks on top of her haphazard pile. "Kept my hands off you for twelve years, didn't I? That hasn't exactly been easy."

Her eyes meet his and her mask slips a little further. Olivia doesn't seem to know what to make of his far too truthful comment though so she simply averts her eyes without a word of acknowledgment.

Glancing at the bed, he adds somewhat sheepishly, "One minor infraction excepted."

"That," she glances at the bed as well, the heat revisiting her cheeks, "didn't happen."

She starts to turn away and he reaches out to halt her. His hand stops short of her arm though, aware that even a perfunctory touch in their raw state could prove precarious. Olivia senses his intent and pauses anyway, turning back to face him.

"Look…" Elliot takes a breath, voice dropping to a compelling whisper, "I could be as involved or as uninvolved as you wanted. This would be _your _child, Liv. And there's no one in the world I'd trust more to look after any kid of mine."

She nods at the floor then looks up at him with exhausted eyes, eyes that tell him she's considered his proposal every which way. "And when we disagree on parenting methods or religious upbringing or God knows what else, which _you know_ is bound to happen?"

"You might be right but," he shakes his head, gnawing on his bottom lip, "time is ticking here."

Her eyes emit a buried flash. "I'm aware of that."

"So…" he gestures to the chaos that surrounds them as though it's proof of life's ultimate sense, "I say we do this now and work out all the messy details later."

Olivia considers him a moment. Then she arches an unimpressed brow and brushes past him. "Well, that is consistent with your MO in reproductive matters."

"Just as avoiding the issue is consistent with yours," he calls after her as she exits the room.

Elliot runs a hand over his face then, turning slowly, follows. He finds her pouring a drink in the kitchen. Olivia doesn't ask him if he wants to join her. She just reaches for a second glass as he approaches the opposite side of the bar dividing her kitchen from her living area. She pours him a generous glass of bourbon then hands it to him without meeting his eyes. The atmosphere seems less strained now that they've left the bedroom. There is still silence but it's filled with more understanding and less tension.

Elliot sips his drink and waits for his partner to reopen their conversation.

Olivia takes a sip too, making a face as the alcohol burns a path down her oesophagus. When she's able to speak, she puts down her glass and looks at him. "I'm not convinced that it's a good idea, El."

"Why?" He swirls the liquid in his glass and attempts a joke. "Something wrong with my Stabler genes?"

"No. I just…" she pauses, lips twisting as she decides just how much to divulge. "I'm not sure," she goes on, choosing her words very carefully, "that it's a good idea for me to be so intimately linked with a man who isn't mine." Her eyes lift to his and she adds quickly, "It's an amazing offer. But—" she smiles, head tipped to one side, "you are someone else's husband and five someone else's father. You'll always be theirs first. And I wouldn't want any child of mine feeling…secondary. You know I couldn't keep half of their parentage a secret – and you know why I couldn't. But to tell them would doom this hypothetical offspring of ours to a life of wondering why they got you and we didn't."

"Well…" Elliot bobs his head and takes another sip of the scorching brew, "no family is perfect. Even the ones with a mom and a dad can screw you up."

Olivia ignores the edge to his tone and continues in her soft, resolute voice. "Even so, if do this…I think I want to do it the old-fashioned way." She retreats to the far counter of the kitchen, leaning back against it as she nurses her drink. "I want someone who loves me, El. I want a child conceived with commitment and passion. I want it to know it's the product of mind-blowing sex – not a cold petri dish or plastic turkey baster. I want my child to have a full-time father, to know what he smells like and eats for breakfast and what color his eyes are. I want her or him to know he loves me enough – both of us enough – to be here when we wake up. I guess," she smiles again, only this time it sticks, "I guess part of me is holding out for the whole goddamn fairytale."

Elliot plants his elbows on the bar and looks at her from beneath his brows. "The fairytale is just that, Liv. A fairytale. Trust me on that. I'm offering you a shot at a reality."

"And believe me, I'm grateful."

"But you're still saying no."

She pauses. Then shakes her head. "I have to."

Elliot watches her walk by the portrait stuck to her fridge, her gaze cast downwards. She's heading back to the bedroom to finish packing Calvin's belongings when he murmurs in a muted voice:

"Are you sure?"

Olivia turns on the threshold. "No."

He straightens at the counter, eyes drifting over her. "You deserve this, Liv."

"Actually…" she looks down at the drink in her hands then back up at him. She takes a breath before completing her thought, "I think I deserve more."

And with that softly spoken sentence, she disappears inside the bedroom, leaving Elliot alone with the silence. He walks to the couch and sits, dropping back onto the cushions with a deep sigh. Taking a sizable sip of bourbon, he lets his head fall back and his eyes close over. He has to admit – as usual – Olivia is right. She deserves more than a single, sad painting to stick to her fridge. She deserves more happy memories to slide into the frame of her mirror and treasure forever. She deserves more time spent on Ferris wheels and munching popcorn and grinning for cameras. And she definitely deserves more than sleeping on a lumpy couch and hoping for a fairytale that may never materialize. Most of all – and of this Elliot has always been certain – Olivia deserves more than a man whose divided heart is hers but whose lips are forbidden from saying so.

_END. _

_A/N: As before, this is where the post-ep for this particular episode ends, though I do plan on continuing this thread once more. Please stay tuned if you are interested and please review if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading._


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